


burning edges and scars and stars

by pretense, tick_tocked



Series: In Which Koujaku & Noiz are Soulmates [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tick_tocked/pseuds/tick_tocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, the string that fate has wound around them proves to be as unbreakable as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole soulmates thing wasn't even supposed to be serious. But then my old man pushed me to it and I made a stupid comic and everything just escalated from there.
> 
> This fic is the product of a drive-by RP that I was too weak to resist.
> 
> So. Before anything else [here is the whole backstory](http://hopaiskalos.tumblr.com/kounoi%20color%20soulmates). Nothing in this fic will make sense if you don't read that first and the comics, too.
> 
> Theme music for Chapter One is [Do You Want To](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uU8bZ6Doo9w)

To call the scenario a nightmare would mean that somewhere, somehow, in the back of his mind, he’s had an inkling that this was going to happen. But he didn’t. It came completely out of left field, or if you wanted to be literal about it, the revelation came after the curtain fall.

The portrait took up nearly the entire wall, larger than life in every sense of the word. Even from this far the details jumped out at him, every brush stroke defining the curves and edges. And the colors…

“It looks almost alive,” comes a whisper from beside him and Noiz is inclined to agree mostly because he can’t find any words of his own.

On stage, the master artist wears an almost self-conscious smile as he looks up at what he had dubbed to be his magnum opus. There’s too much emotion in his eyes as he stares at what he’d achieved with his own two hands. Engrossed in his work, he can barely hear the dignified applause that fills the gallery at his grand reveal.

Noiz stares at the man, awe and confusion mixing together until his system is almost drunk with the combination. He can tell that the other people at the VIP table are staring at him, at the painting, and at the man on stage. He’s pretty sure that at least one of them has asked him something or another but he can’t quite reclaim his grasp on reality just yet. “ _What is this?_ ” he whispers at a loss of anything more substantial to say.

Then it happens.

Koujaku finally tears his eyes away from his masterpiece, not so much as scanning the crowd as zeroing in on the inspiration behind the whole thing. His smile falters a little more but his posture remains proud. He’s seeking approval, some sort of validation that all those hours, days, and months were worth _something_. All the other smiling faces fade away the moment those luminescent green eyes latch onto his own; it makes him think for the millionth time of how his oil painting rendition pales in comparison.

Noiz reads his name on those lips, voiceless but clearer than anything he has ever heard. Time is suspended for as long as they maintain eye contact and it’s doing strange things to the muscle that’s involuntarily beating inside of his chest.

The spell is broken when a teasing voice whispers from beside the blond.

“So this is the one you've been talking about… The, ah, special one.”

Bristling, Noiz sits back and cuts his gaze over to the man beside him. His date. “Far from it,” he denies in what he hopes to be a believable fashion. “In fact, we’re barely what you’d call friends.” 

••••••••••

“Koujaku! Koujaku over here!”

The hairdresser-turned-painter stills, knowing he’s been caught; not that he was trying too hard to stay away in the first place. He was just… stalling. Giving his current companion a firm handshake, Koujaku excuses himself and leaves them with the gallery assistant to finalize the payment matters. Another painting sold. Normally, that would’ve brought the widest of smiles out of him but as he turns around, a look that’s almost shy decorates his handsome face.

The VIP table is situated at the very heart of the gallery, the exhibit panels are lined up on either side of it with the special podium for the highlight of the show right up front. Aoba is standing up, waving one hand as though reeling Koujaku over to him.

Waving back, Koujaku settles on the empty seat beside Mizuki who quickly pulls him into a one-armed hug, never mind their formal attires.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Mizuki asks jokingly, ruffling Koujaku’s short hair as they pull apart. “Look at all this. Five years, man, I freaking missed you!”

Koujaku arranges his hair back into place, affectionately mock-jabbing Mizuki with his elbow as he settles properly into his seat. “You say that like you haven’t seen me yesterday,” Koujaku chides.

“Yeah, I know, but _man_.” Mizuki whistles, eyes appreciatively roaming the high-ceilinged room. “Seeing all this just makes it too real.”

There’s no proper answer to that. Mizuki’s vision is still black and white but it doesn’t diminish the sincerity in his voice when he speaks highly of Koujaku’s work.

“I don’t think we’ve offered our congratulations,” Aoba says from Mizuki’s other side. He looks immaculate in his all-white tuxedo and Koujaku’s heartbeat falters for a split second. “We’re so proud of you.”

“You sound like a parent,” Koujaku teases, scratching the back of his neck.

“Granny sends her apologies as well,” Ren adds, his features are freely expressive now. He and Aoba don matching outfits, differentiated only by the colors of their ties which were navy and sky blue. “She would’ve come with us but there was a sick neighbour that needed seeing to.”

“It’s not a problem, I completely understand,” Koujaku assures him, turning his attention to the next person only for his throat to close up when he finally registers who it is.

Everyone else at the table seem to have been waiting for that very moment as well if the collective anticipatory breath intake is anything to go by.

Noiz maintains a cool expression. He’d been preparing for this ever since the reveal some twenty minutes ago; he’s had a lot of time to compose himself, to figure out what he’s going to say. It doesn’t make it any less taxing. “You did great.”

“Thanks.” Koujaku kind of wishes he didn’t sound so breathless but there’s no helping it, not when he’s finally face to face with the man that has occupied his mind for the better part of the past year.

The customary thanks would have sufficed but _then_ Koujaku looks at him like _that_. Noiz is well aware of the implications, of what Koujaku really wants them to address but… Noiz can’t do that right now. Not when it’s sprung up so suddenly on him. He must really be growing old if he’s getting flustered over the little details. “It’s really something,” Noiz mutters, unable to help himself from glancing over at the painting that’s dominating the room. He’s certain that Koujaku has followed his line of sight.

Silence follows, impenetrable even by the idle chatter of the other guests.

A small placard, illegible from this distance, holds the basic details of the piece – _Soul Mate. Oil on canvas. 20xx._

Aoba isn’t the one who used to be a Pomeranian Allmate but with the look on his face, it’s not hard to imagine perked ears and a wagging tail. He looks between Koujaku and Noiz, the charged atmosphere is so thick he’d need a power saw to cut through. He still can’t believe it. These two…

_They’re soulmates._

The very thought of it sends giddy shivers down Aoba’s spine. No wonder Koujaku was extremely touchy about the subject. This is just too exciting!

“You guys!” Aoba exclaims, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “You really should’ve told me!”

“It wasn’t something to be broadcasted,” Koujaku replies, glad to have something else to focus his attention on.

“Still!” Turning towards the other half of the pair, Aoba points an accusatory finger at Noiz. “You guys played me good, pretending all this time. Well,” he hmphs. “Looks like you won’t be needing dating tips from me anymore.”

Noiz blinks slowly, the look on his face urging Aoba to think about what he’d just said.

Ren nudges Aoba’s foot, eyes imploring as he tilts his head, motioning towards the last member of their table who is seated beside Noiz.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Aoba. Oh,” Noiz mimics sarcastically.

It’s only then that Koujaku notices the other guy, the one unfamiliar face in this table reserved for his most special guests. The connection isn’t hard to make if the flush of second-hand embarrassment on Ren, Aoba’s subsequent apologies, and the guy’s pacifying smiles were anything to go by. Well. Noiz did ask for two tickets.

Properly looking at the man Noiz had brought with him, Koujaku can’t help but be critical. However, he holds himself back from voicing anything out loud. He can tell things are about to make a turn for the awkward so before that happens…

“Ah. I think one of the gallery assistants is calling me over,” Koujaku says, looking over everybody’s heads towards a distant spot. “I should go. Thanks, you guys, for coming to see this…” As Koujaku stands from his seat, he looks each of them in turn and predictably gets stuck on Noiz once again. He has the inexplicable urge to word-vomit, to spew out the uncut version of his painting’s rationale but this isn’t the place and time for that. Settling with a smile that hopefully wouldn’t reveal how much he’s holding back, Koujaku stares directly into lime green eyes. “It really means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Noiz feels the weight of those words and nothing in his extensive bi-lingual vocabulary can formulate an appropriate response. He pushes back his seat, standing at his full height which still hasn’t quite caught up with Koujaku’s. Extending his hand, Noiz puts on his best strictly-business persona. “It’s an honor to be here.”

“Noiz…” The name escapes him without his bidding and Koujaku hastens to grasp his hand. Noiz’ hold is secure, definite, their hands pump down once then the younger man starts pulling away. Something like panic has Koujaku refusing to let go. Noiz raises a brow at him. Licking his lips, Koujaku decides he has to say it, has to say at least this much –

“I… I’m glad that it’s you. My soulmate.”

Before he can embarrass himself further, Koujaku lets go of Noiz’ hand and makes his exit. The crowd closes in on him and he soon disappears from sight.

Noiz’ composure is visibly cracked, patches of pink bloom over his cheeks.

Aoba is positively vibrating in his seat. He grabs Ren by the arm, squeezing tight as he tries to contain himself. For his part, Ren tries to calm his lover by patting his knee under the table as if saying ‘There, there’ to an excitable child.

Mizuki takes one look at Aoba and shakes his head. Must be fun, knowing your soulmate… He catches the eye of Noiz’ date. He’s seen him around before, a Rhymer if he remembers correctly, except Rhyme isn’t really big nowadays. The promising game suffered a steady decline after Platinum Jail’s destruction. With no Usui to mediate, the matches quickly became brutal and the law enforcement had to step in. New regulations were set in place, more restrictive than before and because of that the game lost its thrill and most of its following. They share weary smiles.

••••••••••

Koujaku is pretty confident in his value as an artist, it’s not very different from when he was Midorijima’s most wanted hairdresser. He knows how to act and transact, the adoring fans aren’t new. The show goes well into the night, the guests appear never-ending but Koujaku has no qualms about entertaining them. Every so often, his gaze wanders about and he inexplicably ends up staring at a certain blond.

Noiz was going around a while back, examining the paintings on display with his date. They don’t appear to be too close, unlike Ren and Aoba who went everywhere holding hands, nor were they total strangers. Suffice to say, it’s easy to spot how they’re not romantically involved. From an outsider’s perspective that is.

Koujaku sighs. This really isn’t healthy.

“Are you feeling alright?” one of his companions ask.

“I’m fine.” Koujaku tries to wave off her concern with another smile.

“They’re already serving dinner,” another one pipes up. “You should come eat with us. You’ve been so busy.”

The others nod in agreement and before he knows it, Koujaku is sitting at their table having dinner. He checks on the VIP table, finding that they’re just finishing their own meal. Koujaku doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach much food tonight anyway. He’s about to look away when Noiz turns, making it so that Koujaku can see him clearly. His mouth is moving as he says something that Koujaku can’t hear from this distance, talking to his date. Noiz isn’t very animated when it comes to expressing himself even now, like he’s reserving the stronger emotions for really important conversations. Koujaku watches him a bit more, taking in how much he’d changed from the bratty teenager that he’d first set his eyes on.

Noiz had always had a strong sense of when he’s being stared at, even before he gained he ability to _feel_. It’s like a survival instinct, telling him that he’s the target of something usually dangerous. He finishes his statement and while his date replies, Noiz takes the chance to look around, find the source of that annoying prickled feeling at the back of his neck. He doesn’t have to look far to find the culprit. To be honest, Noiz should’ve expected it. A couple of tables away, almost near the backmost row, sits Koujaku with a group of finely dressed women. Yet, where he has expected the man to be laughing and flirting with his chosen companions, Koujaku sits disengaged. Transfixed, evidently, and Noiz really should be feeling more disturbed about this.

Even knowing that he’s been caught, Koujaku keeps staring. Not wanting to admit defeat, Noiz holds his gaze.

There’s no denying that Koujaku has gone beyond what Noiz had expected of him. From a womanizing Rib leader with a flair for hairdressing, he’d slumped into a drifter who painted away his heartaches, and now he’s here – making his grand return as an accomplished portrait artist. Noiz wasn’t lying when he expressed pride at the other man’s achievements. He has seen him at his lowest – in that dingy forgettable bar bordering two continents, worse for wear and unrecognizable from his usually striking persona.

In spite of himself, Noiz felt solidarity with the man. He empathized with the loss, the confusion, and the need to make sense of things in order to move on. It was a brief meeting, with dry beer in a makeshift studio littered with unfinished sketches of the man the both of them have sought and ultimately lost. Noiz understood Koujaku’s need to find himself but he will not stand for it to be at the cost of Aoba’s disquiet.

They more or less agreed that Koujaku would re-establish contact with those he’d left behind. What Noiz didn’t expect was the pencil sketch emailed to him a week later, asking for his opinion if it captured Aoba’s likeness. He ignored it and the rest that followed but he couldn’t stomach the idea of tagging Koujaku’s messages as spam. The man was reaching out to a kindred soul and eventually Noiz gave in. It was an awkward friendship (one of a kind, even) but it certainly didn’t have enough merit to develop into this…

“Hey, if you’re going to bone him tonight I honestly won’t mind…”

The lewd comment startles Noiz, forces his attention away from Koujaku and towards the man seated right beside him. His date wears a conniving smirk.

“You zoned out in the middle of our conversation,” the man says, not even sounding sorry. “That’s a bad habit for a businessman.”

“My apologies, then,” Noiz grits back which only gets his partner chuckling.

“Seriously, though, talk to him,” he advises, glancing over the table at the back where Koujaku is dining with his other patrons.

“He’s been looking over at you for a good portion of the event,” Mizuki adds his two cents, smiling genially at the blond.

“I’m really sorry for ruining your moment earlier.” Aoba nods emphatically.

“We weren’t having a moment,” Noiz denies.

From beside him, Ren gives Noiz an encouraging smile. “Koujaku is nervous at having to talk to you with the rest of us around. Would you like us to leave?”

“Hell no.” Noiz quickly shuts down the idea.

“But Noiz!” Aoba turns to whining. He’s a full grown man and he’s whining. Noiz has to turn away.

“There’s a good reason we never told you about us,” Noiz states in all seriousness. “And that’s because there is no ‘us’. We’re just soulmates. It’s not a big deal.”

“No big deal?” Aoba gives a dramatic gasp, affronted. “Meeting your soulmate is a very special moment!”

Noiz looks to Mizuki for comment but the guy just shrugs. Turning back to Aoba, Noiz deadpans, “We met when I broke into your room after you beat me in Rhyme the first time. Remember that?”

Aoba sits back, racking his brain for the memory.

“He ran up the stairs and threatened to beat me up on sight.”

“Ah…”

“We trashed your room, fighting.”

Aoba averts his gaze. “Yeah. I remember now. Then Clear flew in through the window and Granny got mad.”

“Well it _was_ memorable,” Mizuki grins. “Gotta give credit for that.”

“Point is, I never liked him from the start,” Noiz cuts in before another smart ass decides to twist his words around.

“It’s never too late for love,” chimes his date and Noiz gives him a dirty look. The traitor.

“You people are impossible.”

With that said, Noiz pushes his chair back and stands.

“Where are you going?” Aoba asks.

“Away from you idiots,” is all Noiz says before walking out.

Ren frowns, giving Aoba a ‘look-what-you’ve-done’ expression. Aoba’s shoulders droop, appearing discouraged for all of one second before –

“Is he gone?”

“Yep,” Mizuku affirms, sitting up straighter.

“Good.” Aoba turns to the date Noiz has left behind, smiling kindly. “You guys are not really dating, right?”

“Oh no,” the guy raises his hand as if to push away the allegation. “We’re business partners. He just invited me for old time’s sake.”

“Knew it,” Aoba says with the snap of his fingers. “Mizuki, you know what to do.”

“Way ahead of you.” Mizuki is already tapping a quick message on his Coil and hitting the send button as soon as he’s done.

“Aoba…” Ren is completely at a loss. His confused pout is simply adorable. Aoba couldn’t resist leaning up and planting a kiss in between the knitted brows.

Looking into uncertain amber eyes, Aoba gets that warm feeling around his heart. He had always been able to see in color, a trait that surprised his adoptive family but was initially chalked up to a genetic anomaly. Not that they told him that aloud, it was simply assumed since no other explanation would suffice. It wasn’t until he met Ren, until he lost him and the colors dimmed that he realized what it really meant.

“Trust me, Ren, this is for Koujaku’s own good.” 

••••••••••

Noiz finds a vacant wall to lean on, tipping his head back and taking a calming breath. This is the most stressing gallery night he’s been to, and he’d been through an entire month dating an art connoisseur’s daughter back in Berlin. No matter what path he weaves through the crowd, he can still see Koujaku’s masterwork. It even feels like the painting itself is searching him out.

How did Koujaku even reference that? They were in contact, sure, but video calls were rare. Noiz is no expert but he can at least recognize quality. _Shit._ He wishes his heart would stop beating so loud. What is this even supposed to mean? 

“Hey…”

A part of Noiz wants to pretend he didn’t hear it. The fucking nerve of this guy to come up to him. Noiz wants to get angry but time has already mellowed down that pubescent reflex. He feels Koujaku come closer, feels the distinct warmth of another body sidle up to the wall beside him. Lashes fluttering open, Noiz eyes the taller man, the downward twist of his lips stating his displeasure.

Koujaku’s smile thins and he clears his throat. “I didn't mean to put you in the spotlight like that…"

The apology should’ve irked him but instead it calms the riot in his chest. “Tsch.” Noiz straightens up so he could deliver something that could maybe make this conversation feel a little normal. “You should've thought of that _before_ starting a fucking wall mural starring _me._ "

Briefly looking up at the “wall mural” in question, Koujaku has the decency to look ashamed as one hand absently scratches the back of his head. "…Inspiration has many faces… or something like that."

"Whatever." Noiz looks away, not daring to face the artist when he asks, "Are you selling that thing?"

"Hm? Well, it's a really personal piece so I don't think anyone would be interested…"

The blond mutters something indecipherable and Koujaku’s curiosity (plus the need to somehow keep the conversation going) leads him to say, "Sorry, I didn’t catch that..."

A huff. "I said a piece like that could earn big money,” Noiz repeats.

It will be a shame to just let it gather cobwebs in a corner."

Koujaku squeezes at his nape, wondering if he’ll ever get used to hearing these kinds of praises from the younger man. “Ah, yeah... I'm not really short on money and as I’ve said I don't think anyone's interested--"

"I'll buy it."

"-- What?"

Noiz crosses his arms defensively, as if daring Koujaku to read more into his decision. "Well it's not like anyone else would have it… Unless they're some pervert with a thing for oil on canvas." 

"You mean if they're some pervert with a thing for your face on oil and canvas," Koujaku finishes with an awkward laugh.

"You’re one to talk considering you put painstaking effort on it," Noiz retorts. "That makes you the biggest pervert of them all. I’m doing everyone a favor by taking it out of your hands. So -- name your price." He pulls out a small metallic card from his pocket, taps it once and it expands into what is basically a cheque.

Koujaku eyes the gadget with amusement. "You never change, don't you? But I guess that counts as a compliment so thank you very much~" He gives a little bow. "And if you really want it, it's yours. No cost attached. Consider it made especially for you, yeah?" 

••••••••••

“Is he blushing?”

“I think he is!”

“Noiz, too?”

“Definitely.”

“Oohhh!”

Ren has his face in buried in one hand, the other grips Aoba by the wrist as a precaution. With the way the blue-haired man is leaning out of his seat, Ren fears for the worst.

On Aoba’s other side, Mizuki is one jab away from popping a confetti cannon. He _knows_ that look. He has lost count of how many women Koujaku has wrapped around his fingers when he's wearing that look. Apparently, it works on men, too.

Aoba is betting against him on how long it will take before Noiz breaks. 

••••••••••

Noiz looks Koujaku up and down, wondering when they started standing so close to each other. He clenches his jaw. "Don’t patronize me. I know value when I see it and I won’t just take your work for free. Your price, old man."

Koujaku pauses, surprise flashing in his eyes as he hears the crudely hidden compliment. By now, he is very much used to hearing people's praises but Noiz' words made him feel... different somehow.

"... Think it's worth a kiss from you?"

Koujaku waits with bated breath, expecting a quick punch or something equally violent for his teasing.

"...." A quiet _fwip_ sound comes from the digital card deactivating and shrinking back to pocket-sized convenience.

"I can’t believe you're flirting _knowing_ I've got a date with me." Noiz smacks the taller man in the face with the cheque card. 

... That stupid face shouldn't look fucking charming to him, scrunched up like that. Well, then. Two can play at this game. Noiz pockets his card and leans in, eyes half-lidded, the back of his hand brushing over the uncovered side of Koujaku’s face. "Your loss. Ask me out on a proper date next time before making moves."

Koujaku just _stares_ at Noiz' retreating figure, a hand clasped on his cheek like he'd been violently slapped. The suspicious red tint on his cheeks certainly supports that theory.

…And for some reason, the hairdresser-turned-artist finds himself curious about suit pants and their… _meticulous_ construction methods. 

••••••••••

Back at the VIP table, Mizuki and Aoba greet Noiz’ return with angelic smiles that fool no one.

The blond scoffs, "Sorry, kiddies, no show for you tonight."

In a second, Aoba is leaning across the table, asking with big hopeful eyes. "But you are two going out now, right?"

"No,” Noiz deadpans. “I was willing to pay to get that big-ass painting out of his lecherous hands but your bastard of a childhood friend tried to trade it for a kiss."

Mizuki’s smile cracks. “Say what?”

“You heard me.”

Dry Juice’s leader pushes his chair back and stands, smile frozen on his face. “Excuse me for a second.” Before anyone can stop him, Mizuki heads towards the wall where Koujaku has yet to move.

Seeing his friend’s approach and the dark air accompanying it, Koujaku puts up his hands in an attempt to pacify the man.

“I can’t believe you!” Mizuki cries, drawing the attention of a few patrons as he stomps his way past them. “That was your chance!”

“Whoa, calm down, Mizuki.” Koujaku puts his hands on the Rib leader’s shoulders, a truly apologetic expression painting his face. “I couldn’t help it. It’s sort of like an automatic defense mechanism.” Mizuki is still seething so Koujaku adds, “I didn't know you felt so strongly about this.”

“You’ve been going on about this anonymous soulmate of yours and now you just—” Unable to find a good enough word, Mizuki resorts to a half-hearted punch at Koujaku’s arm.

“Ow.” Koujaku pouts in mock-hurt, letting go of Mizuki’s shoulders.

“Shut up.” Leaning against the wall, right over the space Noiz had occupied a few minutes ago, Mizuki shoots Koujaku a dead-serious look. “I’m not going to let you ruin this one for yourself.”

Blinking, Koujaku rights his posture. “I’m not planning on that.” He smirks. “In fact, I have a better plan in mind.”


	2. Chapter 2

A few days after that exhibit, Noiz receives an e-mail. He’s in the middle of a lunch meeting, closing another trade agreement effective for the succeeding half decade. It’s his last scheduled business transaction before his flight back to Germany.

The past week has been packed with one meeting after another, making the most of his overseas trip. He had received Koujaku’s gallery invite first and simply scheduled his business transactions around it to cover up his true purpose for taking so many days off. And now…

“Pi! You have one unread message!” Midori exclaims from his Coil’s display screen. Noiz stares at the bolded name for a brief second before tapping it.

**From: Old Man  
** **> hey. ** **you still interested in the painting?**

A relieved exhale passes through his lips. Of course Noiz would rather have it because god damn that dedication is something money cannot buy. He doesn’t want to come off as obsessed over it so he carefully constructs his reply.

**< depends. are you still charging with kisses?**

Noiz hasn’t even soaked in the satisfaction of his witty remark when a reply from Koujaku comes almost immediately.

**> and what if I'm charging for something more now~?**

In spite of himself, Noiz feels the corner of his lips curl up into a smirk. So this is how the old man wants to play…

**< ** **how bothersome. let's talk it out over dinner.**

_Dinner_ , Noiz stresses in his mind.  _It’s just dinner_ . Nothing to get worked up on –

**> only if you’re paying**

 - much. With a huff, Noiz types out a challenge.

**< better dress up then**

••••••••••

Noiz sits at a table for two, disinterestedly checking his coil for the status of his stocks as he waits for Koujaku to arrive.

The restaurant he has chosen is decidedly European, situated in one of the subcities of Platinum Jail that has grown of its own right in the years following Oval Tower’s downfall. The atmosphere is more welcoming and businesses are thriving ever since the island had opened itself to the outside world.

Koujaku is, as instructed, dressed to the nines in a wine-red suit. His usually unruly short hair is slicked back. Upon reaching the table, he gives Noiz a small smile before pushing forth a small, wrapped package.

Noiz's gaze slides from the hologram screen to his da -  _dinner partner_ . "Well isn't that a refreshing look?" he says without real malice. He picks up the parcel and weighs it in his hand. "And what's this?"

Koujaku takes a seat before leaning back, the casualness of his movements contrasting with the sharpness of his get-up.  
  
"Just a little something to make sure you don't kick me out pre-emptively."

It almost sounds like a challenge and Noiz could taste the rebuttal at the tip of his tongue… except this is a respectable establishment that doesn't deserve to contain street language. Still, he maintains an unimpressed expression as he unwraps the package.

Ah. It's... a bunny. A crochet bunny.  
  
The thing fit neatly into his palm, the soft lime green material begging for him to squeeze at it. What he could assume to be eyes are staring at him and Noiz hides his imminent squeal of delight behind a cough.

"Don't tell me you made this," he grunts, carefully setting the crochet bunny back into its wrapper for safekeeping (and so he could fawn at it later.) "Was it Aoba's idea?" Noiz asks as he tucks the package into his breast pocket.

Honestly, that guy... 

Koujaku didn't miss the surprised gleam in Noiz' eyes. Perhaps he'd grown too used to seeing the young man's placid expression that any small twitch, any almost unnoticeable shift seemed like a pebble dropping in still water, the effect instantaneous and - dare he say/think it -  _mesmerizing_ .

Perhaps he should do more things to 'unsettle' Noiz, if only to see how he would react to them...

"Yes and no. Aoba told me to bring a gift but I couldn't think of anything else to give you since you'll soon have that painting." The dark-haired man gives a nonchalant wave of his hand, scarred fingers now embellished with a band aid (or two). "..It's not too good, though. I never got used to needles." he murmurs, voice turning quiet near the end.

"We only agreed on dinner yesterday," Noiz states, a quirk of amusement as he finds the band aids and realizes where they came from. "If that was your first attempt at crocheting, of course it wouldn't turn out perfect... But that's fine," he pats the hardly-noticeable bump over his chest, his heart, peering up at Koujaku. "It's... charming."

And that is seriously the one word Noiz never hoped to use in front of (or even in relation to) this man but, well, credit to where credit is due... Though he would need to have a talk with certain people about divulging his soft spot on bunny-themed anythings.

"So you're exclusively into arts and crafts now?" Noiz asks as he signals at the waiter to bring the meal he'd ordered beforehand. "Not planning to go back to hairdressing?"

Koujaku pauses, taken aback by Noiz' compliment. It would seem like an odd game has been set up between them, one where they try to get the strangest reaction from the other by doing or saying the most unexpected things. 

Currently, Koujaku thinks he has the upper hand but really, was this game even worth racking up points for? More importantly, was it a game he was willing to lose?

"I might try hairdressing again. When you think about it, hairdressing is creating art too."

Never in a million years did Koujaku expect to hear himself talk like some 'serious artist' but heartbreak had its special way of changing someone.

Noiz makes a brief hum of agreement. "I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of ordering our meal."

Now that they've broken the ice, time to get to the heart of the matter. He still refuses to acknowledge this as a date even though they are bound to have a rather intimate discussion. The gallery reveal came completely out of the blue... He and Koujaku didn't (never did) see each other that way. From his side, at least, Noiz is content with having found mutual respect considering their rough beginning.

But then the evidence was rather literally uncovered before his eyes and it jump-started something he wasn't even aware of, something that has apparently been lurking somewhere deep in him.

Koujaku gives a small hum of approval as the dishes are laid out before them. Despite his unpolished past, the dark-haired man has become rather skilled in matters of fine dining. His manners won't be getting him into Buckingham Palace very soon but he could at least differentiate between a salad fork and a main course fork now.

Koujaku fiddles slightly with the silverware, knowing full well that he is just buying some time. The silence that stretched between them slowly but surely turns awkward, mildly irritating as they both sought the proper words to be used in this setting.

"... So, how goes the matchmaking? Aoba told me your parents have been trying to set you up."

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say? Koujaku frowns slightly as he tries to gauge Noiz' reaction, silently wondering if Aoba's apparent blabbermouth syndrome was starting to rub off on him.

The food-laden fork stops halfway to Noiz's mouth. He puts it back on the plate and pins a look of mild disapproval at Koujaku's chosen topic. He highlights the mental note on giving Aoba an earful about the things he has entrusted to him regarding his personal life and how he's  _not_  supposed to spill them like a cracked piñata. Not that his parents' get-him-hitched plan is a big secret or anything but who knows what else Aoba has divulged.

"Well it's not killing me," Noiz replies, sardonic. "And it's a good opportunity to expand my business network so the pros ultimately outweigh the cons. The guy who accompanied me to your gallery opening, for example, he's going to be a local distributor for our communications line."

He picks up his fork once more, slipping in a quip before he takes a bite. "Is this your roundabout way of asking if I'm available?"

Koujaku feels a piece of lettuce lodge itself firmly in his windpipe at Noiz' question and it takes all of his self-control not to claw helplessly at his finely-pressed suit in a bid for proper breathing.

Reaching for his glass of water, the dark-haired man takes a couple of sips to calm himself before hitting back with an oh-so-suave,

"And what if it is?"

No matter how many actual dates he's gone on (set-up by his parents or by his own volition), the flirting part never fails to irk him. Noiz does his fair share of it, so it'd be hypocritical of him to condemn it entirely, but some days he just really isn't in the mood. Straight-talk is still his forte.

"Then, I'll have to inform you that I am not, in fact, seeing anyone at the moment," Noiz states in a tone he reserves for those particularly hard-pressed clients who won't take no for an answer. He already knows what's coming next so he chooses to deter it. "And my answer to your next question remains the same, Koujaku. You remember the last time we had this kind of conversation."

The suave, easy-going smile on Koujaku's face fades, replaced by a bemused smirk as he takes another stab at his dinner.

"... Talking with you is always such an interesting experience."

But of course Koujaku remembers the last time they had a similar conversation and somehow, he finds himself looking back on it fondly instead of with disdain. Perhaps he's amused at how different everything was back then and yet how painfully similar they all are. Or maybe he's just trying to distract himself from the odd pain throbbing in his chest at Noiz' implied refusal. 

"... And for the record, I was going to compliment you on your new look. It's much delayed but you deserve it, brat."

"Should I be worried that you're apparently fascinated by my looks?" Noiz returns, getting comfortable as they more or less revert to the old ways they regarded each other. He refills their wine glasses, observing Koujaku's slightly tensed posture under the sparkling chandelier. "Tell me, however did you compose that painting?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Apparently I'm an artist now so I have creative license to spout flowery bullshit."

The dark-haired man takes another (less refined) sip of his wine, offhandedly wondering how many bottles it would take for him to get sufficiently drunk because, damn, he's not sure if he can survive this night sober.

"... I couldn't sleep so I started painting. Before I knew it, I was staring at your face. Romantic, ain't it~?"

Noiz scoffs, undeterred by the slip in Koujaku's gentlemanly image. "That's not romantic, that's disturbing." He sets his cutlery aside and picks up his wine glass. "More reason for me to take it out of your hands."

Now that he's said it, Noiz begins to figure out the logistics of taking the work to Germany. He could place it in his apartment, somewhere only he can see. Despite the grand and very public reveal, Koujaku did say that it was a personal work and Noiz agrees that it deserves a more private approach. It's a treasure, simply put, and Noiz intends to treat it as such.

"Which leads me back to my original query..." Noiz licks the wine from his lips, savoring the flavor. "I refuse to simply accept it without giving you your due. Not to say that I can only see its worth in monetary values. In a way, I'd like to support your trade, so you can go on to capture more people's hearts with your passion."

Koujaku laughs at that, all fine mannerisms practically flying out of the window as his limbs sprawl demurely on the chair, leg crossing over the other in nonchalance as he regards Noiz with darkened ruby eyes.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you'll be flattering me like that."

He takes another sip of wine, unconsciously mimicking Noiz' action as he licks the corner of his lips to catch fading notes of grape and alcohol.

"I really don't know how else you can pay me since my passion is fuelled by really random… beautiful things."

Okay so that wasn't a slip. Noiz sits back, a little wary as it becomes imminent exactly how little of Koujaku's inhibition remains. Well, at least dinner is nearly over.

"I wouldn't get anything out of flattering you," Noiz coolly replies, even though a dusting of red burns high on his cheeks. He didn't expect his words to come out as such, he was merely stating facts. For Koujaku to completely miss that means it’s time to take away his right to any more wine.

Noiz had intended to order dessert but considering the circumstances, he reroutes his plans. He catches the eye of their server and signals for the bill.

"Random beautiful things, huh?" Noiz muses, delicately tracing his jaw, fingertips tapping absently as he thinks. "How... abstract..."

Koujaku gives a little huff of a laugh, lips still pulled in that lazy smirk. "Tried that once, abstract art. Didn't like it much. Too deep for someone like me."

Ruby eyes glance at the nearly empty wine glass before darting to meet lime green. Koujaku was far from truly inebriated but he had enough alcohol in his system to keep his tongue loose, his movement less stiff but not quite bordering on uncoordinated. The only thing bothering him right now was how Noiz didn't look any different even with the alcohol running through his system.

He was still the same snot-nosed, bratty blond with eyes the color of pale emerald… like light filtering between crisp green linen, swaying in the breeze...

Scarred fingers mindlessly reach out, curious to feel the vision for himself only to pause halfway through. Instead, the dark-haired man gives himself a sharp, definite slap before straightening up in his seat.

"... What, no dessert?" he asks like what he just did was the most normal thing in the world.

The slap's impact reverberates in the room, making a couple of people look over at whatever it is that has disturbed the calm ambiance. Noiz blinks at the question. The server who'd brought the bill remains standing beside him, awaiting his decision.

He curtly hands his credit card to the server before turning his attention back to Koujaku. There's a throbbing mark where his palm met his cheek. "Well if you insist, there's a place that specializes in sweet delicacies not far from here," Noiz says as the signs his name on an electronic board to verify his payment. He has dealt with inebriated dates before and experience has taught him that some fresh air and change of pace usually gives people some of their sense back. Usually.

It might be fun to see how Koujaku functions with his inhibitions worn down. In spite of himself, Noiz feels a little excited. He keeps his credit card once again and stands up, moving over to help the hairdresser-turned-artist out of his seat.

The lingering sting on his cheek keeps Koujaku's senses grounded even as he feels his flush darken. He isn't one to be shaken by public displays of oddity (heck, he spent most of his life wearing a goddamn _kimono_ for goodness' sake) but something about acting out in this setting made him feel a tiny bit sheepish.

So that relieved sigh was expected as they step out into the cool night air, the tension in his frame slowly easing as he feels himself return to his element.

Midorijima might have changed almost as much as he did but certain things stayed the same. The bright, almost gaudy glow of neon signs burning their mark in the night coupled with the distinct scent of nicotine in the air... Koujaku takes a deep breath before loosening his tie and undoing a couple of buttons on his suit.

With a teasing little smirk, he glances at Noiz. "Lead the way, then~"

Noiz pulls his coat closer, hands in his pockets as he gauges the crowd. From his frequent trips to Midorijima through the years, he'd witnessed its gradual transformation with something that's just short of wistfulness. This place served as a hideaway and eventually a home because he met people who made him actually give a damn.

He just never expected that he'd be spending time alone with Koujaku in this very same city. Considering that the last time they were  _technically_  together in this place, they were on a mission to aid the one man who had brought meaning to their lives.

And now they're here. As sort-of good friends. With the awkwardness (and the slight buzz of the alcohol) waning off.

"Alright," Noiz amiably agrees, turning away and jerking his head for Koujaku to follow. "But since I covered dinner, dessert is on you."

"Sounds fair to me."

For a moment, Koujaku could almost imagine they were back in the past, wading in the unspoken tension that existed between them as both sought the attention of that one person who they believed could make their lives meaningful.

That tension still exists here, of course, but it has mellowed out in time. Less like a heavy, thick smog fuelled by misdirected rage and more like a singular string being tugged, pulled taut by the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

Pausing before a lone waffle stand in the middle of the park, Koujaku gives Noiz a quick grin before ordering a couple. The scent of vanilla and chocolate punctuates the air, like a silent rifle being shot in the night.

Breathing in the aroma of freshly baked waffles, Noiz graciously accepts the ice cream sandwich handed to him. It warms his fingers and he takes a tentative lick where the dessert has been dipped in chocolate for a finishing touch.

They say once you've tried authentic Belgian waffles and chocolate, all others pale in comparison but Noiz begs to differ. He has learned to appreciate localized recipes, good food is an experience that Noiz would never want to be left out of.

He takes his first bite, savoring the medley of cool sweetness from the vanilla ice cream and the soft warmth of the sandwich that surrounds it. A quiet hum of approval leaves him as he licks melted cream from the corner of his lips. "It's not that sweet," he casually observes as they walk away from the stand.

The soft, subtle sweetness of the warm treat had Koujaku forgoing the suave, sophisticated vibe he was supposed to portray. He bites into the waffle, making quick work of the pastry and cream. Chuckling a bit at the pleased look on Noiz' face, Koujaku proceeds to finish his own dessert, ruby eyes marvelling at the simple, quiet beauty of the park at night.

They slowly but surely make their way to a nearby pond, its surface glistening with mirrored stars.

Koujaku idly licks a chocolate sauce smear on his finger before glancing back at the blond. "... You know, I never thought I'd enjoy something doing something like this with you," the dark-haired man murmurs, eyes unnaturally bright, earnest.

Before Noiz could say anything else, he steps closer, a slight crease furrowing his eyebrows.

"--'missed a spot." was the only warning the blond got before Koujaku leans in to lick away a spot of cream by the edge of his lips.

Noiz tenses up at the invasion of his personal space, breath hitching at the minute slide of something wet over his skin; it’s close enough to his lips to register as a kiss for anyone who might have been looking in their direction.

"That wasn't very polite," Noiz murmurs, looking up at Koujaku who has yet to move away. The atmosphere between them is charged and it's familiar, similar to when they had a moment alone at the gallery days prior; he recognizes that gleam.

"If you wanted more," he continues, leaning up with a coy smile. "You shouldn't let your downstairs brain do the thinking." Noiz then makes a quick, purposeful glance down between them. His grin widens as he steps away, lifting his still-unfinished dessert so Koujaku could see.

"Look at the mess you've made." Rivulets of melted ice cream are running down Noiz's fingers, dripping onto the pavement. He had unwittingly squeezed his hands around the waffle sandwich when Koujaku made his move earlier. 

"Tsk." Noiz makes a show of cleaning up, tongue slipping out to lap up the mess from every digit, never breaking eye contact the entire time. Koujaku had ruined his dessert and revenge has never tasted so sweet.

Koujaku's breath hitches at the shameless display set before him. 

Then again, it is a pit he'd dug himself. It's common for him to put on the moves for ladies (and possibly some future art clients here and there) but to willingly taunt  _Noiz_ , the damn blond rascal who always managed to make his life ten times more complicated.

But the dice has been thrown, the game already set. To back down now would surely mean defeat and Koujaku did not feel like losing when he could glimpse such an interesting prize… although it was still uncertain what this particular prize really entailed.

"You're the one making a mess of things, cheeky brat."

He grabs Noiz's sticky, ice cream-covered hand, ruby eyes steadfast on lime green as he continues where the blond left off. The tip of a warm, curious tongue darts out to lick away what remained of the sweet treat before sharp teeth nip playfully at the junction of finger and palm. It took quite a lot of Koujaku's self-control not to just bite Noiz right then and there, that sudden and unexpected animalistic urge sending a faint shiver down his spine. 

It would be a lie to say that Noiz felt nothing from the other's ministrations. Koujaku's eyes are clear with intention, whatever inebriation he'd shown before has evaporated under the simmering heat in those ruby eyes.

"If you keep on doing that," Noiz mutters with half-lidded eyes as Koujaku finishes "cleaning" around his thumb, teeth grazing ever so slightly over the meat of his palm. "We're going to get arrested for public indecency."

"Do you want sex, Koujaku?" he asks, anchoring his now-slick fingers under the taller man's chin. "Is that what this silly game is about?" Noiz drags the pad of his thumb over Koujaku's bottom lip. "Do you want to play with me?"

Koujaku's eyes are a dark, dangerous red as he feels the rough press of Noiz' thumb over his lip. He gives the digit another playful nip before his own lips quirk in its signature smirk.

"If you want me to be perfectly honest then yes, I do want sex."

Somewhere along the course of this odd night, Koujaku had fought and quite possibly lost the battle with his subconscious desires. He has succumbed to the fact that Noiz was one attractive bastard he'd willingly sleep with. But that admittance was nothing but the tip of the iceberg of his so-called defeat.

Yes, he wanted the blond's close company for (at least) one night. And yes, it was partly because he found Noiz attractive and interesting enough. But something else throbbed deep within Koujaku and his mind was clear enough to realize that this particular ache wasn't solely confined to his pants.

"... But I don't want to stop there."

He boldly steps forward, bringing their bodies even closer than before. His arm circles Noiz' waist, offering him no chance of escape.

"I don't know if it's anger or lust… Maybe a bit of both, maybe neither. But I can't say it any other way."

Koujaku leans in, lips pressing against the shell of Noiz' ear.

"I want you. I want to hold you close, to break you apart, to devour every last bit of you ‘til nothing is left."

"Angry sex, huh?" Noiz muses, racking his brain as to how he'd ended up in the exact set-up that he wanted to avoid. "Haven't had one of those in a while..."

Not that he can't recognize the more attractive aspects of Koujaku. It's well-established that this man could charm the pants off of anyone, he can almost hear Aoba's conniving tone telling him  _it’s futile to resist_.

No. The reason Noiz armed himself with double-edged come-ons and shameless, directionless teasing is that -- damn. He actually cares about this goddamned son of a bitch.

It would've been fine if they got this out of their systems years before, when conflicting emotions clouded their judgments and they could walk away without remorse. But those days are long gone, overshadowed now with a more mature understanding of their places in the world, of what they live for, of what they need, what they want.

Being soulmates is far from being an assurance that things would turn out for the best. He has seen how ruined the rejected ones can become. Noiz doesn't want that for either of them, doesn't want to risk it.

Koujaku is... warm.

" _Angry sex_. Yeah, you'd call it that."

Koujaku's hand around Noiz' waist trails down, shamelessly groping the young man's perfect ass (he was right to admire those finely-made pants)… before surprisingly moving away. The warmth between them dissipates at the sudden distance, although Koujaku's gaze remains locked on to Noiz'.

Now a foot away from each other, the dark-haired man takes a deep breath to try and calm himself - something he would have never thought of doing years before. The old Koujaku would have shamelessly had his way with Noiz right then and there - emotions swirling in one confusing heap, ignited by the spark of lust before exploding in a single, mindless moment, consequences be damned.

But now... Things were different. 

"I want you," he murmurs, voice even as he tries to calm his lust-hazed mind. "Call me weird or foolish... but I also want this to mean something. I don't want to forget about tonight."

With another slow, calm breath, Koujaku grasps Noiz' hand, caring very little about the sticky remains of their dessert still lingering on his digits.

"..I don't want to force myself to forget you."

"Jeez," Noiz mutters, fingers flexing indecisively in Koujaku's hold. "Decide already if you're going be a lecher or a gentleman. I'm sure this wouldn't be the first time you've fucked around..."

What they agreed on was a civil dinner which Noiz had hoped would bring a satisfying end to whatever Koujaku was playing at with the painting and the flirting days before. After their near-disaster (to a degree) with the wine and given how simple dessert turned into foreplay, it has become quite clear the night has spiralled out of reason. The cherry on top of the cake is that he's now faced with the prospect of dick.

His declination to the initial offer was at the tip of his tongue but then Koujaku had to follow up with something actually rational. Noiz himself is not entirely free from the influence of finely aged wine and he has lived his life up to this point making sober decisions on intimate matters. (The piercings are a different story altogether and nobody really needs to know about it.) So as long as they both know what they're doing, a casual affair isn't entirely off the table.

Noiz starts walking, thereby pulling Koujaku along. He frees his hand and takes out a white handkerchief to clean up as best he can. After that, he offers the handkerchief to Koujaku. "Walk me back to my hotel," he says. "Tell me what you really want then." A teasing grin appears. "I won't even mind having you stay the night if it's going to be too late for you to go back home.

A small chuckle passes Koujaku's lips at Noiz' blunt words. They stung but the feeling only served to ground Koujaku in the moment, to wipe the haze of lust and alcohol from his eyes so he could clearly see the young man before him and witness the faint, almost unnoticeable blush high on his cheeks.

It was pointless to try and make sense of the night's events. What started as a game, a final chapter to their odd 'relationship' has turned into a breathless leap into the unknown. Were they friends? More than friends? Koujaku wasn't sure of it himself but he felt that Noiz was equally lost. The comforting thing was that this was something they can figure out together, dealing with it in the way they knew best - swinging to and fro, switching from gentle to rough like a pair of pendulums tempered by age and time.

Koujaku takes the embroidered cloth, a small, teasing smirk on his face as he wipes his hand clean.

"Offering lil ol' me a place to spend the night? Well that's uncharacteristically kind of ya."

He then proceeds to take Noiz' now-clean hand, suavely pressing a kiss on the slightly chilled skin as he momentarily pulls him close to tuck the cloth back in his pants pocket. Still smirking, Koujaku attempts to twirl the blond… only to be met by a familiar, fierce glare.

"Honestly," Noiz huffs, pulling his hand out of Koujaku's grasp. A spot on his skin burns where Koujaku had kissed him. "That offer isn't set in stone."

It's embarrassing to stand within a ten feet radius of the ridiculously (too-)happy smile that's adorning the older man's face, much more so knowing that it's directed at him. Years have passed since he'd last spent significant time face-to-face with Koujaku, he'd almost forgotten how inherently annoying he finds him. First impressions do last and considering the way they met... yeah. Noiz sighs, resisting the instinct to walk out. The man's intentions may have shifted from mere friendship to something more but he's still... he's a good guy. He might just be as confused about their situation as Noiz is and they're going to deal with this maturely like the adults that they are. (Or hope to be.)

Noiz extends his hand once again, contrary to his predispositions. "Hold my hand properly or don't do it at all. The night's not getting any younger. Just like you."

The smirk on Koujaku's face is too happy, bordering on turning into an actual goofy grin. Watching Noiz' reactions, the slow but sure way he caved in made a strange flutter rise in his chest. The playful jab about his age should have ticked him off... and perhaps it  _did_ but it’s an impulse he can easily overlook. Or perhaps he should make an exception just this once..?

"Ah, but we're equally old now, right? We should be mature enough to keep from saying childish things... although I'm not quite sure how aging works for beansprouts like you."

He takes the blond's offered hand, giving it a tight squeeze before breaking into a run. He can almost hear Noiz yelling at him about 'old men and their midlife crises' as they sprint through the lamplit pathways, the cool night air caressing their blush-warmed faces.

"Not a beansprout," Noiz huffs as Koujaku drags him through the not-so-busy streets. It's not hard to keep up with all the running, he might even be a little surprised that the older man has pretty good cardio for his age; more than that, Noiz finds it impossible to maintain a disproving frown when that stupid grin outshines the neons of the night life.

"You're hardly one to talk about acting maturely," he quips as they pause before a pedestrian crossing. "Running aimlessly around. You weren't trying to get us lost were you? My hotel is this way." Noiz tugs at Koujaku's hand, turning right at the end of the street, smoothing his hair with his free hand as they walk the remainder of the way over.

At Noiz' mention of the wrong direction they were taking, Koujaku feels his grin turn into a slightly sheepish one, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar gesture of embarrassment. They might have changed a lot over the course those years but certain things remained unchanged.

When the blond tugs Koujaku to the other direction, the older man could not help the slight look of surprise that flashed on his face. The hotel was tall and sleek, it’s almost eerie ambient light making it seem like some sort of alien mothership beacon in the midst of the city. He gives a low whistle as they approach the large glass doors, his hand still firmly attached to Noiz'.


	3. Chapter 3

The high-rise hotel stands out from the rest of the buildings on the street, boasting of its eminence for all to see. Now that they've reached their journey's end, Noiz remembers his earlier proposition. He tells his hand to let go.

"Whoa~ I've seen fancy places before but this one is really in a league of its own. It's too bright and shiny... like you." Koujaku chuckles, ruby eyes meeting Noiz' lime green pair.

After enduring similarly saccharine lines the entire night, Noiz easily brushes off this latest attempt at flattery. "Don't worry, you fit right in with that get-up. Guess your painting gig doles out good money after all."

As they step up the white polished steps, a certain thought drifts to the forefront of Koujaku's usually impulsive mind. Something about a decision that needs to be made, boundaries (or the lack thereof) that have to be discussed, words that just might change the way they see each other forever...

They stand atop the stairs, accentuated now with the brilliance of the hotel's luxurious lighting and decorations. The lobby is just beyond the glass entryway, beckoning Noiz to retreat and re-evaluate whether his entire concept of his relationship (or lack, thereof) with this man has just turned topsy-turvy in the course of one ill-plotted dinner. His hand twitches. He hesitates.

Koujaku steps closer, poised to speak. "Noiz, I--"

Noiz overtakes him.

"I could ask you to give me your answer," he says, just loud enough for the two of them to hear amid the bustle of hotel staff and guests. Even at this late hour, people still come and go through the esteemed establishment. "But as I've gathered this evening, you make really horrible decisions. Really. Horrible. Decisions." He emphasizes with a stern look directly into Koujaku's eyes. "So I will be debasing your tendencies to make fools of us in public. You're coming with me."

He can't let this night end with more questions than answers.

Before Koujaku can get anything else out, the blond silences him with a stern look coupled with his usual brand of no-nonsense talk. Horrible decisions? Really? And who was  _he_ to say that??

But something about the serious, unwavering look in Noiz' eyes calmed the sparks of incredulity in Koujaku's mind, his witty comebacks dying in his throat. The blond wasn't the only one who wanted to get to the bottom of all this and if what it takes was Koujaku forcing himself to shut up and listen for once then so be it.

"... Lead the way, then."  

The elevator ride up to Noiz's suite is a quiet one. A mutual understanding of having to maintain dignified behavior at such a place keeps the two of them from engaging in their usual banter; or maybe they're just saving all the words for later. Noiz has both hands in his pockets, watching as the display panel counts to the upper floors.

Koujaku would never admit how he instantly missed the feel of holding Noiz' hand in his as they wordlessly agree to act like good acquaintances rather than 'confused not-lovers'. He understands how certain rules of proper conduct should be observed, especially now that they are in a place more open to the public eye. With no cloak of darkness to hide or excuse their childish behavior, Koujaku finds himself pondering on troublesome thoughts yet again.

As much as he tries to give a name to this odd feeling in his chest, he just couldn't. Words are inadequate, letters too flimsy to hold the myriad of emotions and possibilities. It’s something between love and hate. All Koujaku could understand is that he wants…  _more_. More of this.  _More of him_.

A cool burst of air greets them as they exit. Noiz walks up to one of the few doors along the hall and holds up his Coil to unlock it. A tell-tale click and a blip of green confirms his access. Noiz retracts his hand, an unbidden sigh leaving his lips. He looks back to confirm Koujaku's presence, needing some sort of assurance that they're going to do this right... whatever  _this_  is.

He heads in and trusts Koujaku to follow.

The silence continues to stretch even as they stepped out, Koujaku following Noiz like uncharacteristically obedient sheep. The dark-haired man is unfazed even after Noiz opens the door to his suite. He only manages a faint "Nice wallpaper." before they walk deeper into the chilly room, the dim lights only adding to the mysterious atmosphere hanging between them. 

Once inside, Noiz deftly shrugs off his coat. He enters the walk-in closet to his right and calls out for Koujaku to hand him his coat to hang. A quick bout of consideration has him removing his tie as well, dressing down in an attempt to set the tone for whatever discussion they're bound to have.

To actually invite a man who has claimed to want to "devour" him into his (temporary) home, Noiz thinks he must have a few screws loose in his own head. He's not afraid of what Koujaku might do, rather, he feels more threatened by the uncertainty of what he'd  _let_  Koujaku do to him.

Lust and love are emotions that are very easy to misconstrue.

"Make yourself comfortable." Noiz gestures towards the room at large as he pads into the kitchenette. "Would you like to have a drink? Coffee or water?" He clarifies after seeing the complimentary alcoholic drinks inside his fridge.

"Would it be so bad to say I want a tall drink of you..?" Koujaku murmurs, tone half-teasing. He settles on the empty couch with a heavy sigh, already getting used to the slight pounding in his head that apparently happened whenever he said something particularly dangerous or stupid. Or perhaps a bit of both.

Loosening his own tie, the dark-haired man casts a particularly displeased glance on the coffee table before him. The glass was polished enough that he can see his own weary reflection staring back and the sight made him want to bash his fists against the nearest surface. He'd been acting calm up to this point but it seemed he was nearing his limit.

If Noiz would not say or do anything, Koujaku just might take matters into his own hands. Deal with all of this in one swift action… which he knows would just make everything worse. There was no safe or clean way out of this. Not for him or for Noiz. 

Groaning as he leans back on the couch, the dark-haired man's eyes finally settle on Noiz' figure illuminated by the half-open fridge.

"... Do you really want to do this with me?"

Noiz shakes his head, grabbing two water bottles before heading over to where Koujaku has seated himself. He leans his hip on the back of the couch, pressing the bottom end of one of the bottles to Koujaku's forehead. "Cool your head, old man," he mutters, letting go of the bottle when the other reaches for it. He walks around and plants himself on the adjacent single seat.

"I invited you into my room, not into my pants," Noiz continues, pausing momentarily to take a gulp of his own drink.

Koujaku was thankful for the small miracle that helped him swallow a mouthful of water before Noiz' statement fully registered in his mind. Otherwise, he would have died from choking and the last thing he wanted to do was send the brat to jail for absolutely stupid reasons. If anything, Noiz should go to jail for running him over with a Ferrari. Or pushing him off the hotel's rooftop. Whichever the blond felt like doing.

"You..."

A short laugh makes it past Koujaku's lips before he meets Noiz' gaze. His ruby eyes are warm, bright.

"Yeah, you're right about that. I shouldn't have thought too much into this," the dark-haired man murmurs before taking another quick sip from his bottle. Ah, what he would give to have it turn into some hard liquor right now...

"What I really want is for us to get to the bottom of this. You're obsessing over me." The statement hangs in the air and Noiz looks down at his hands, gripping his water bottle by its neck. "Just like you used to obsess over Aoba."

It's always been at the back of his mind - that nagging feeling, that murmur of caution - ever since he saw his own face rendered magnificently on canvas. That much detail, that kind of precision, that couldn't have come out overnight.

Koujaku’s lips part before closing, words getting caught in his throat like dizzied bumblebees accidentally wandering into the sticky-sweet trap of a pitcher plant. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing gracefully as the words try to resurface.

"... To be honest, I didn't notice until I finished the painting. Sounds absolutely crazy, right?"

Another sip. Another pause.

"Although what I feel for Aoba... rather, what I _used_  to feel for him and what I now feel for you are two different things."

Noiz didn't believe that excuse the first time and he's not buying it now. Crazy is definitely one way to describe it but he refuses to believe that the so-called masterpiece happened by accident. It would be preposterous if it was that easy. Then again, what did he know about the arts?

Rolling his shoulders, Noiz hears a satisfying crick where the packed muscles snapped loose, easing out some of his stresses. "So what are you trying to say?" He looks over at Koujaku with a smirk that lacks his usual confidence. "You want me to make you forget about Aoba?"

It doesn't work like that, Noiz knows it too well. It took him years to even consider physical intimacy with another body. He had wanted Aoba, pined for him, he functioned with nothing but the thought of him (of the possibility of them) in mind only to have everything he'd worked for be for naught.

He doesn't blame Ren. He would never be able to look Aoba in the eye knowing he's harboring ill-wishes to the man he loves, the man who makes him happiest, the man who isn't Noiz, the man who isn't Koujaku, either.

Koujaku had known Aoba far longer than Noiz did and he's seen the older man's attempts to right himself after accepting the cold hard fact of unrequited love. 

Love -- Does Koujaku think he can love again after that? A private smile lifts the corner of Noiz's lips. All these mentions of  _feelings_... It's suddenly laughable.

The subtle tightening of Noiz' lips hinted at his disbelief and Koujaku lets out another short laugh. Apparently, someone else can now see right through him and the idea sent a jolt of surprise and uncertainty down his spine.

The truth was that Koujaku knew damn well what he was doing... at least halfway into it. He started with the conviction to create something else, something that will not remind him of blue skies and amber eyes, fleeting happiness coupled by bitter heartache. He tore through page after page, canvas after canvas. On the fifth day, he found himself staring at a half-empty glass of water, a multitude of colors bouncing off the clear surface. It was beautiful... but inadequate. Much like him, much like the now-colored world that still seemed so cold and empty.

At the memory of a monochrome world, Koujaku found himself remembering a certain blond who all but crashed into his life. Despite their rough introduction and even rougher parting, he wondered how the boy was doing.

As if guided by an invisible string, Koujaku's fingers found a pencil. One sketch, then two. Soon enough, his workshop was filled with half-finished sketches. Only when he began laying down the base colors of his masterpiece did Koujaku finally realize how all his efforts have been leading to this. In the process of creating the painting, he found himself trying to find words to describe his work, reasons he can use to hide the fact that he had yet to understand  _why_. 

Fast forward to this... odd moment and Koujaku finds himself smiling wryly as the answer continued to elude him. Or perhaps he was looking for a question instead?

"... I'll never forget about Aoba. He'll always have a special place in my heart. He's a good friend of mine. Always will be."

To say that a part of him died when Aoba chose Ren would be a severe understatement. Every day, Koujaku felt like a dead man but nonetheless he kept on walking. The idea that there was something else for him, the slim hope that perhaps he'll find his own happiness too was what kept him going. It was a pathetic, brittle hope but it existed. It pulsed deep within him, weak as a butterfly's wingbeat but whenever he was with Noiz... it turned into a roaring impulse, like a beast demanding to be satiated.

"You're nothing like him... but I want you all the same."

Koujaku pauses, his face registering a thoughtful look before he shakes his head.

"Actually, no. I want you in the way that's uniquely yours." The dark-haired man grins as if pleased with the way his statement made absolutely no sense.

Wanting. Noiz puts his water bottle down and wrings his hands together. Want is something he is awfully familiar with. Wanting entails a give and take relationship. After hearing the same message over and over again, Noiz has to accept that Koujaku is serious about it.

Bright eyes study the figure lounging on his couch. Koujaku looks old. World-weary, if Noiz has to be a little more specific about it. It's the look of someone who has loved and lost - something Noiz himself knows more than he'd like to admit. Unlike Noiz, however, Koujaku still has that spark of hope in his eyes.

"But I don't want you," Noiz states plainly because the least he could do now is reply with equal honesty, no more sarcasms or asides. His feelings might have been messed up a little at the sudden onslaught of affection directed at him -- he still gets caught off-guard sometimes, more so considering it came from someone he has come to consider a friend -- but now that he has had enough time to process it, Noiz falls back into his fail-safe. "I could lend you my body but it wouldn't mean a thing..." He sighs. "You're a good man -- you're my soulmate -- you don't deserve... this."

A sharp pain pierces Koujaku's chest, the hope in his eyes flickering at Noiz' words. It would seem that he will never be immune to the blond's bluntness. No matter how close, how 'friendly' they can be, Noiz would always find a way to get under his skin and pierce him where it truly hurt. The experience was equally detestable yet exhilarating. If anything, it made Koujaku feel  _alive_ and Noiz was the only person he knew who could make him feel such a thing.

Koujaku's lips form a thin, slightly displeased line at the blond's proposition. It sounded terribly familiar and he detested that fact. When would Noiz learn that his body was more than a bargaining chip? That he was worth more than how he tried to 'sell' himself? Then again, that would be rich coming from someone with such a stellar track record as Koujaku.

The dark-haired man empties the bottle with one more sip, casually wiping his lips clean with the back of his hand as he sets the container down on the spotless table.

"... Just what exactly do I not deserve?"

"You're a romantic, for better or worse," Noiz starts, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "You want love. I can't give you that."

Once upon a time, Noiz had wanted it too. After being locked up for so long with barely anything to live for, caged in a black and white world, he clung to the idea that meeting his soulmate would save him. He'd heard all about it from the maids that tended to him, from his instructors who he supposed are more knowledgeable than the rest. He craved it, envisioned a time when he would meet his soulmate and have the colors wash away everything bad in his world.

Then he got tired of waiting. He broke out, broke away; it's not like his soulmate is going to be delivered to him on a silver platter. The room became suffocating and Noiz knew that it can't be all that there is so he took matters into his own hands. He won't be some pathetic damsel in distress, he doesn't need to be saved. In the farthest corners of his mind comes the whisper that there is nothing  _to_  be saved.

Rhyme was his salvation and his downfall. Rhyme led him to Sly Blue and his subsequent defeat felt like the closest thing to being alive. An old feeling creeps back up and around his chest, a  _wanting_. Noiz doesn't even care about the stupid colors anymore. This Sly Blue, this Aoba Seragaki -- Noiz wanted him, wanted another taste.

And that's where Koujaku came crashing in, with fire in his eyes and a voice that resounded like thunder. Noiz hated him before he even looked at him. Then came the burst of colors, an explosion like fireworks except it's too close and too bright. The simmering emotions in his chest reached boiling point and the first punch he threw carried years upon years of resentment.

Noiz didn't want Koujaku then and he doesn't want him now. He had given up on his soulmate long before he met him and even upon meeting each other they had made it clear that whatever fated bond they've been assigned doesn't mean shit. And it was all good. Koujaku moved on. Noiz moved on. It was Aoba that they both wanted.

In a way, he was right about choosing Aoba. The man had saved him in every sense of the word. Aoba believed in the best of him when Noiz had already thrown it all away. The least he could do was give it all back and maybe more. Even after Aoba had introduced him to Ren (his soulmate for crying out loud) Noiz could only smile because  _oh, so this is what heartbreak feels like._  Noiz had never felt so strongly about anyone before and he doubt he ever will.

Koujaku was never even part of the equation.

"I'm flattered, really," Noiz says without a hint of the usual sarcasm that would've come with it. "I don't want to downplay what you feel but let's stop this now before it gets out of hand. I'd still be your... friend." It feels kind of awkward to even say it at this point but Noiz presses on. "Wouldn't you want to find someone who can love you as much as you do them?"

"You make it sound like that's such an easy thing to do."

In all the years he has spent walking this good earth, Koujaku has learned a thing or two about love. Love, in its essence, is pure. He might have glimpsed something like it when he was a kid, a certain warmth he felt when his mother brushed his hair from his face, when she kissed him good-night. He might have seen it in the wide, trusting eyes of a friend as he jumped down from a tree branch and on to his waiting arms. 

But love is something humans took for granted. It is something that turns foul, bitter once placed in unworthy hands.

Koujaku saw with his own eyes how love can turn a mild-mannered individual into a raging monster. And no, it was never hatred. For hatred destroyed, yes, but it left traces that healed. Filthy, poisoned love on the other hand left traces that sunk into your skin, into your heart. There the traces stay and grow, disguised as something beautiful before the thorns come out and prick you, killing from the inside-out. 

Given his warped sense of love, Koujaku made little to no fuss about finding his soul mate. He was fine with living in a black and white world. Humans were flimsy paper dolls with fake smiles who bled ink. Koujaku lived amongst them, a veritable corpse walking the earth, seeking the means to his end. 

But then he met him again.  _Aoba_. The one person whose smile made it worth wanting to see the world in full color.

Koujaku knew from the beginning that he did not have a chance with him. Aoba was pure, untouchable. He couldn't soil him with his filthy hands, with his filthy love. But every day the want grew until it shattered like a vase overflowing, toppling over and breaking into a million irretrievable pieces. 

Aoba had Ren. The love they share with each other is unmistakable and as much as Koujaku would want to claim happiness for himself, the idea of destroying something so beautiful nagged at his ghost of a conscience. If he couldn't be part of Aoba's happiness, what right did he have to take it away from him? But the pain of rejection was difficult to let go and Koujaku carried it in his heart like a seed of poisoned love. The thorns grew, lengthened and pierced right through his chest several times. They were his lowest moments. The time he cut his hair in a sad, sobbing fit... that one night he ended up drinking himself unconscious on some Paris gutter, feeling like literal trash... 

The oddest part is that they came in short bursts, never as one prolonged episode that would have inevitably led Koujaku to his grave. He always found himself distracted, fascinated perhaps by the now-colorful world around him. And as strange as the meeting with his 'soul mate' was, the dark-haired man was thankful that it happened. 

Noiz... is an enigma. Koujaku could never quite figure him out at the start. The blond was brash, careless, obnoxious. He knew just the right words that could get under Koujaku's skin... and perhaps several of those words found themselves sinking into the dark-haired man's core where that one poisonous seed remained. Perhaps there is something to learn about what happened when poison met poison, how the combination of two volatile things could cancel each other out. Koujaku himself was not aware of it for a while but eventually, he found the thorns shrinking, his manic-depressive episodes lessening as the weeks passed. 

It wasn't odd to think of Noiz as the pain in his chest lessened. In a way, it was thanks to the blond that Koujaku was able to distract himself long enough to realize that there was more to life than pining for someone who would never love you back. 

Is Noiz his friend, then? Did he want to 'just be friends' with him? Or did he want them to be something more? Is he even ready for such a thing right now?

"... I don't think there's anyone out there who can love me the way I want them to. Rather, I don't think I deserve to love anyone out there at all."

Koujaku gives a small, ironic laugh as his gaze trails to the large floor-length windows. Ah, what he would give to be able to have a good long smoke right about now...

The older man’s profile spells out melancholy. Its etched in the rugged contours of his face, under the fringe of his hair that’s a little mussed compared to its sleek styling from hours past, tracing the curve of thin lips that have finally dropped all attempts in faking his usual smile.

“That’s not true,” Noiz mutters, more to himself than an actual reply, but the way it echoes in the stillness of the room tells him he had voiced that thought louder than he’d intended. He averts his gaze before Koujaku has the chance to catch it.

If anyone deserves love in this world, it's people like Koujaku -- the redeemed, the hoping, those who  _want_  another chance.

“Love may not be quantifiable.” Fingers dig into the meat of his arms. “But it is certainly not limitless. You still have it in you, enough apparently to share with someone of your choosing so…” Noiz breathes deep and closes his eyes. He can’t believe half the crap that’s spewing out of him right now. Is this what Aoba calls a heart-to-heart talk? It’s  _exhausting_.

“Be a little smart about it. They’re out there -- that someone who can and  _will_  give you more than you can imagine -- and they’re waiting.”

_I'm not._

Koujaku sighs, the sound weary and forlorn. He had no idea how things ended up sounding this serious. As much as he detests having such long, soul-bearing talk, the simple fact was that it made him feel better somehow. It was like a scalding bath after a particularly cold day and as much as the contact stung, it made him feel alive. Barely breathing but alive nonetheless.

“... Noiz, I’m tired.”

Emotion-riddled ruby meets pale emerald, their faces somber as light streams from the windows. The blond’s name is strange on his tongue but it feels necessary, like that moment warranted such temporary ‘closeness’.

“I’m so tired.”

His voice is barely a whisper, deep on the verge of breaking. He throws his gaze to the side, his shaking hand distractedly pawing at the fringe framing his face. The tattoos were stinging, prickling his skin and it was getting difficult to breathe. Every word felt like vomit, acid spilling past his lips.

“... I don’t even think I want it anymore. Love, affection, whatever the hell it is. I’m so tired of looking. I’m so tired of hoping that whoever I find would stay with me.  _I’m so fucking tired of everything_.”

Koujaku grits his teeth, blunt nails digging into skin and scalp as his tattoo is bared. The still, cool air of the room gives his stinging skin little relief and he is up and off the couch before he can even register moving. He paces for a few moments like some caged animal looking for a way out, contemplating breaking down the barriers that kept him at bay. But these were mental, emotional walls that no physical power could destroy, let alone touch.

“Sorry. I’m sorry about this but I can’t --”

“I have to go.”

In a snap the static that has pervaded his suite disperses, carried by Koujaku's sudden movement. Noiz stares at him, brought out of his musings by the sounds of agitated pacing.

Even though Koujaku has deliberately turned away from him, Noiz can still read the stiffness in his shoulders, can see the bandaged fingers that's gripping at his hair a little too tightly.

Maybe it was a bad idea to have this talk after all... Something about certain things being better left unsaid.

He could let Koujaku walk right out the door. That seems to be for the best rather than have the both of them suffocate in this tense, tar-like atmosphere that neither of them can (apparently) effectively navigate. On the other hand, Koujaku doesn't look anything close to being in his right mind enough to handle a simple commute home.

"Hey..." Noiz remains sitting, lethargic in voice and posture. "Just sleep with me."

He could have worded that so much better but he's already running low on fucks to give this time of night.

"- - !"

Koujaku turns sharply, his eyes now a dangerous, livid crimson. It takes just a couple of steps to close the distance between them, his fist grabbing hold of Noiz' fancy shirt to lift the blond up like he's some ragdoll about to be thrown against the wall.

_"Don't fuck around with me."_

It's a complete 180-degree turn of events. And to think that Koujaku is the one who’d been teasing Noiz about sleeping with him that night but after everything that has been spoken and shared between them, the invitation sounded all fifty shades of wrong. Like always, Noiz' words slip beneath Koujaku's already loose emotional defenses, pricking him right where it hurt.

The dark-haired man then shoves the blond down on his seat, arms on either side of his head to effectively pin him on the spot. Old, powerful feelings surge from within him - a deep-seated rage coupled with a rather inexcusable immaturity that wanted nothing more than to punch Noiz right in the face, to see the damn brat's expression twist into that of surprise and pain. To witness the fear that Koujaku secretly craved - a clear indication of how far gone he was, how much he deserved to be wiped out of the face of this planet like some nasty ink blot, like a fucking mistake.

_Love or hate - there is no middle ground._

_Tell me where you stand so I can stop pretending._

Koujaku leans in, his breathing heavy and gaze unflinching. 

"... Do you think this is some kind of game?" 

This situation is almost nostalgic, Noiz thinks as he keeps his chin tilted up in defiance. Imminent danger is rolling off of Koujaku in waves -- almost like a waterfall with the way the man is looming over him, his tone of voice is enough drown the blond under raging torrents -- yet Noiz simply holds his gaze.

“No. Believe me, fucking around with you is the last thing I want to do,” he mutters, hardly needing to use much of his voice given their intimate distance. Noiz considers reaching up, fingertips skimming the inked skin around Koujaku’s eye before carding through his hair. A couple of his previous partners seemed to like that sort of thing, they said it was calming and Koujaku really needs to calm the fuck down right now.

What stops him is the pleading look in those crimson eyes, hidden at the very center of a whirlpool of hurt and confusion.

Noiz settles with placing one hand on the forearm that’s caging him, feeling the angry heat radiating off Koujaku’s skin through the material of his shirt. “When I said sleep I meant _sleep_ ,” he speaks slowly, as though conversing with a child. “As in close your eyes and count some stupid sheep.

“Let’s just drop this,” Noiz finishes in earnest. “We’re both exhausted and those fluffy pillows are calling my name. Come on, old man.”

"What?"

As quickly as the flames of irrational anger rose up within him, they’re extinguished in a way only Noiz could accomplish. Stunned and quite confused, the stiffness of Koujaku's gaze wavers before breaking, his arms falling limp by his sides as he tries to come up with a coherent response.

"You mean you don't want to --"

It takes all his remaining self-control to not slap himself silly at the idea. Why is he so adamant on getting the blond to sleep with him anyway? Is he that eager, that desperate to get into Noiz' pants?

The idea sends a shiver down Koujaku's spine and he had no clue if it was borne of disgust or desire. Letting out an odd, strangled noise, the dark-haired man slumps forward, his forehead resting on Noiz' shoulder. He is far from graceful or dignified but really, he couldn't care much at this point. The blond had seen him in his lowest moments so what was one incident more?

"... Sleep sounds great."

A huge weight is lifted off his chest at the older man's compliance. He feels like they've just averted a catastrophe and -- while he can cover the damage and even pay the hotel staff to keep mum of the disaster that might've been -- he'd really rather not have to deal with such a mess, period.

"We finally agree on something for once," Noiz mutters.

He lets Koujaku lean on him for a minute, setting his displaced hand on the back of the man's head in an awkward attempt at comfort. Disentangling himself from their convoluted embrace is more challenging but he manages to free himself eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

Noiz heads for the walk-in closet and comes out with a plastic package. "Oi. Catch!" He throws the hotel's complimentary sleep robes at Koujaku, aiming at his face.

"You can change in the bathroom," he indicates the door opposite his closet before stepping back inside. "I already got my clothes here."

Koujaku feels rather than sees the package hit his head. He couldn’t even be bothered to dodge or throw a well-aimed insult at Noiz about ‘disrespecting his guests’ or something along that line. His words from earlier that night rings true – he is tired. So very tired from all the griping, from that emotional breakdown he was not prepared for. And to think that he broke down in front of _Noiz_ of all people.

But try as he might to ignore it, a small part of him was grateful for that fact.

“Would you kill me if I took a shower too?”

Not even waiting for a reply, Koujaku steps into the spacious bathroom, fingers hastily undoing his shirt and pants. He at least had the common sense left in him to properly fold his discarded clothes before stepping into the glass-walled booth.

Prompted by a quick whirr and click, Koujaku’s wistful sigh is lost in the sharp, distinct hissing and splashing sound of water hitting ceramic.  

Koujaku's question is muffled through the door but whatever it is, Noiz doesn't think it's anything drastic. He busies himself with shedding the rest of his clothes, deciding against sending it down to be laundered since he'll be checking out after tomorrow anyway.

Putting on a bathrobe, Noiz empties the pockets of his trousers before folding it up with his shirt. The matching coat is still on its hanger, Noiz plucks it from the rack and is in the middle of pressing it in half when a small bundle tumbles out.

Noiz stares at the parcel, he'd forgotten all about it. Distracted now, Noiz leaves his current task in favor of fishing out the crochet bunny. With the closet's better lighting, he can discern the craftsmanship better.

The bunny sits upright on his palm, four fingers serving as its backrest while Noiz runs his thumb over the folded ears and rather squished face. It's nice to know the cute factor didn't diminish even though he can see now where Koujaku had threaded things wrong and attempted to right it.

His reflection on the full-length mirror magnifies the small smile tugging on his lips.

Koujaku finds his mood lifting considerably as the cold water eases the prickling in his skin, another pleased sigh making its way past his lips as he steps out. If the water was cold, the bathroom floor is downright freezing as he makes his way around in bare feet. But the touch gave his body a much needed jolt, something to help clear his mind of stupid, worrisome thoughts.

He was just going to sleep with Noiz. No funny business involved. Just... sleeping.

Although the dark-haired man couldn’t quite recall the last time he did such a thing. It was almost like a sleepover, except instead of ghost stories they had actual gut-wrenching life stories swaddled in layers of silence and uncomfortable tension.

…Okay, so maybe not quite like a sleepover. The thought kind of made him want smores, though.

“I hope you don’t mind puddles --”

Koujaku pauses at the rather endearing sight of Noiz holding the crochet bunny, a slight smile tugging at the blond’s lips. The dark-haired man feels his heartbeat pick up speed, the sensation similar to what he felt back in the gallery when their eyes first met. A torrent of unbidden, irrational thoughts begin pouring into his mind but Koujaku holds fast.

Taking a deep breath, he leans on the door frame, a familiar teasing smirk on his lips.

“So I guess this means you kinda like it, hm?"

Noiz doesn't even have time to hide the bunny, caught in the act as he is, so he settles for a frown that barely covers up his blush. "Kind of. I just like rabbits in general. But you already knew that."

He leaves the door to the closet open, heading into the now-vacant bathroom.

"You can hang the rest of your clothes in there," Noiz says as an aside, stopping beside the older man, unable to help himself from eyeing the exposed planes of a tanned chest under the robe before moving up. He briefly examines Koujaku's expression, nothing that the darkness underlining his features seem to have receded for now. Satisfied, Noiz gives a nod before continuing, "I'll just be a minute."

Giving the blond a quick mock salute, Koujaku heads for the closet to obediently hang his clothes.The task was over in a minute or so, allowing the dark-haired man the childish freedom of jumping on the bed, sprawling like he practically owned the place. The layers of fabric and cotton felt particularly pleasant beneath him and he feels his eyelids getting slightly heavy…

The sight of stark black lines snaking beneath thin cloth startles him awake, a deep frown tugging at his lips as he belatedly realizes how much of his tattoo now lay exposed. Even after all these years he was not comfortable with seeing the inked lines, remnants of horrible memories he could never get rid of no matter how hard he tried.

Taking another deep, calming breath, Koujaku closes his eyes and wills himself to ignore yet another slowly-growing headache.

He was such a pathetic, whiny baby. Just the mere sight of his (half) exposed body was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

Sitting up into a more ‘refined’ pose, Koujaku crosses one leg over the other, temporarily hiding black lines with tanned skin. His hand fidgets with the bathrobe sleeve, ensuring that most of the ink on his arm remained hidden. There wasn’t much he could do with his face or chest tattoo but this should be good enough for now.

Noiz… doesn’t actually know what to expect when he comes around the suite. The sight of Koujaku sitting primly at the edge of the bed draws a soft chuckle out of him.

“Thought you’d be under the covers by now,” he says, throwing the crochet bunny up and catching it one-handed as he pads over. “Though I can’t imagine this is what you were hoping for when you very unsubtly implied falling into bed with me tonight.” His teasing smirk is toned down somewhat, the prospect of sleep downing most of his defences.

Setting the bunny trinket on the nightstand, Noiz pulls back the covers and climbs in. He pauses midway when he realizes Koujaku still hasn’t moved.

It was a battle for balance as Koujaku tries to appear calm yet slightly pissed off at Noiz’ snide comments. He couldn’t let the blond know he’d been scrambling to get some semblance of normalcy in his head and that the mere sight of his tattoos was enough to unsettle him. He couldn’t appear weak, irrational given his behavior up to this point. The last thing he wanted to be was a burden, a problem for someone else to solve.

He was fine.

_Absolutely fine._

“Yeah, well, you'll just have to fantasize about what this night could have been seeing as those plans have been absolutely ruined.”

Koujaku gives the blond a lopsided grin as he lifts the covers up on his end, slipping in between the plush blanket and bed. The dark-haired man then turns to lie on his side, facing away from Noiz. The knowledge he won’t be alone for that night was comforting, even if it was with someone he often teased as ‘the annoying brat’.

"Fine. It's no loss to me. Let's never do this again."

Huffing at Koujaku’s act, Noiz settles under the covers as well, claiming his half of the bed though the space between them is enough to fit a third person. He thinks of asking if Koujaku would prefer to keep the lamps on but decides on turning them off in the end. The city outside is as lively as ever, lending its lights to the darkened room.

Noiz turns his back to the older man, closing his eyes and getting comfortable on the fluffed pillow. The minute whirrs of the air conditioning system fill the room, lulling its occupants to slumber…

Except Noiz' head is now filled with indignant thoughts. He'd been nothing but accommodating this entire night. He played really fucking nice. Is it his fault that he's not into whatever twisted affection Koujaku insists on pushing on him? Tsch.

He has a white-knuckled grip on the bed sheets, teeth gnashing together to keep the words in because he can _not_ deal with another stupid argument right now. Noiz forces his mind to quiet.

Fifteen minutes on and at least three shifts in position later, Noiz is glaring up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.

"You awake, old man?"

“Hard to sleep with you thrashing about like that.”

The truth was that Koujaku couldn’t fall asleep easily no matter how hard he tried. On normal days, it would take him at least three hours to properly settle in and by then, the sun would already be peeking in from the horizon. He never found comfort in sleep for it is at night that shadows – both without and within his mind – become so stark it’s hard to believe they can be avoided or forgotten.

“What got you so bothered, brat? Still upset you didn’t get to have a piece of this?” the dark-haired man laughs, gesturing vaguely to the (oddly feminine) silhouette his body made on the bed.

Noiz snorts. So they're back to this. "Can't even see what you're packing under there."

He folds his hands under his head, sliding his gaze over to Koujaku, a little wary of how far this teasing can go since the last time -- and it's not even an hour ago! -- did not end up so well. And isn't that the understatement of the century?

"You know... we really could have but... the moment is long gone, isn't it?"

Darkness hides crimson eyes from him, might as well because Noiz still vividly remembers the flame in them and he doesn't think they're anything close to extinguished... even if the rest of Koujaku looks bone-tired. Noiz feels almost sorry about that.

Koujaku gives a small huff, murmuring “It’s not pretty, that’s for sure” before letting his curiosity get the better of him. He shifts to glance at Noiz, ruby taking in the distinct silhouette and strangely serene face. With this kind of lighting, Noiz looks even paler than ever. Almost like a marble statue made to adorn someone’s fancy grave.

At the mention of what could have been, the dark-haired man turns and props himself on his other side to have full, unhindered view of his current 'bed fellow'.

“..Did you honestly want that?"

What was 'that' anyway? They've practically gone in circles trying to understand what was going on between them. A couple of hours and many tense moments later it would seem that they had very little progress, if any at all.

"Asks the man who groped my ass in public," Noiz remarks with a lazy grin.

“- - I was drunk! Well, sort of.”

Koujaku turns his gaze away, cheeks a slight pink. Apparently Noiz’ talent about saying all the wrong things can also go the other way. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Noiz relaxes further into the mattress, exhaling. "You're not exactly undesirable, there's just..." _what's that term?_ "a conflict of interests."

It's almost... sad, the way those words chose to leave his lips. Noiz certainly doesn't think of it as a disappointment but -- oh.

"That reminds me." Shifting a bit, Noiz turns a little more towards Koujaku. "You can collect on that kiss anytime. For the painting, I mean."

At the very least that issue will be settled tonight. The issue that started it all, Noiz thinks, amused.

Shifting slightly to get even more comfortable on the bed, Koujaku then casts his gaze on the dark ceiling. He can just barely make out the sharp lines, a faint avant-garde design decorating the otherwise blank expanse. At Noiz’ mention of the kiss, his blush deepens, gaze turning strangely serious even as he continues to stare at nothing in particular.

“Well, if I’m not in your ‘interest’… you wouldn’t exactly be too thrilled about getting a kiss from me, now won’t you?”

Koujaku hates how he sounded like a whiny teenage girl trying to wheedle a kiss from her crush. It takes every bit of his self-control not to turn away from the blond, fearing that doing so would properly constitute sulking thus further enforcing the whole ‘whiny teenage girl’ imagery.

Noiz bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with a hand in an attempt to stifle it. Cushioning his head with one arm, Noiz dares to roll a little further along the bed. "Are you sulking? Sorry to break it to you but not everyone puts out on the first date--"

Freezing mid-sentence, Noiz can only hope that the insufficient lighting hides the blush he can feel rising on his cheeks. "Dinner," he stiffly corrects. "Anyway, you say that like I can't give a million dollar kiss." His lips hitch up into a smirk that's half-confident and half-teasing. "Or maybe you're just phenomenally bad at kissing?"

The sound of Noiz’ laughter does strange things to Koujaku. It makes him want to laugh along but at the same time, his fist itches to connect against the blond’s jaw in an unmistakable punch that would surely leave a mark. Forcibly pushing the conflicting thoughts from his mind, he gives Noiz a challenging look that clearly says ‘Oh, you’ve done it  _now,_ boy.’

“You  _really_  want to kiss me, don’t you? I can recognize a taunt when I hear one, y’know.”

In stark contrast to his words, Koujaku moves closer, pausing only when a mere few inches separated them from each other.

“..And I’ll have you know that  _my_ kisses are worth more than a million dollars~"

"I just don't like being in debt," Noiz states, all inclination towards sleep chased away by the exhilarating rush of what looks more like a dare than proper payment. "For whatever its worth then..." His words trail into whispers as he leans closer, supported on one arm while his free hand ghosts over Koujaku's cheek. He wets his pursed lips.

Their mingled breaths are warm and it takes too long for their lips to finally connect, as if neither one fully intends to follow through on the kiss, like it's nothing more than another bluff, another pointless challenge to push the other off the edge until --

Lime green eyes break contact with their ruby counterpart, a flutter of short lashes curtaining the nameless emotion that’s swirling beneath his gaze. Only when he finally rests his fingers against heated tan skin does Noiz realize how cold they really are.

The gentle, warm brush of skin on skin has Koujaku’s mind blanking out. It’s like stepping into a blizzard, unarmed and unprepared for the flurry of blinding white that washes over all your senses. Now, Koujaku is no stranger to kisses. He’d be lying if he said this is something he’d never experienced before. The touch is simple, hesitant but sweet – a ‘first kiss’ by any other definition. But the very fact that this is  _Noiz_ , his fricking _soul mate_ , makes the experience feel unreal.

The blond’s fingers are cold against his skin and Koujaku finds the urge to wrap them with his own. But that action isn’t anything the dark-haired man took lightly and he finds himself hesitating, opting instead to run his own fingers down the barely visible curve of Noiz’ waist.

The kiss is over before they know it, although Koujaku stays close, lips occasionally brushing against Noiz’ as he murmurs, “You kiss like a girl~”

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Noiz counters. He hums, tempted to dive in for another one to prove it wrong but then... "You only get one kiss, though, and that's it so..."

He pinches Koujaku's cheek and pulls away, inching back towards his side of the bed. He doesn't miss the warmth, there's no explosion of butterflies making it hard for him to breathe. To be honest, he kind of expected a big revelation and it's a little disappointing. Or should he be worried that it feels so... normal?

Koujaku stares, momentarily stunned by the turn of events. He resists the urge to pout, tries to ignore the irrational feelings rising from deep within that make him want to pull the damn brat in for another kiss. The simple fact is that Noiz has fulfilled his end of the bargain. One kiss for one painting – nothing more, nothing less.

But then why does it make Koujaku want something more..?

The feeling is familiar, the same odd flame he felt at the beginning of this night. He might have hidden it beneath playful teasing and flirting but he realizes with dawning uneasiness that the want, the desire is  _real_.

“… So I’ll just have to make you another painting, yeah?” he murmurs, lips donning their trademark smirk even as his gaze holds a firm resolution that dares Noiz to challenge him.   

"Trading paintings for kisses now? That's not a very smart way to sell."  Noiz hums, debating whether he should egg the other on -- and, really, when has the answer to that ever been no?

“Makes one wonder if you do this to _all_  your clients.”

“I only do this for special clients~” Koujaku replies with a wink before shifting, preparing to turn away and resume his (rather fruitless) quest for sleep. But for some reason, his corner of the bed now feels rather cold. The darkness is back, creeping into every crevice and corner. The only thing keeping him from getting swallowed up is the sight of lime green eyes peering at him mischievously from the gloom. It’s less a guiding light and more a simple but effective reminder that he’s being watched, that whatever happens to him in the next few minutes Noiz will be there to witness everything. 

Maybe he’ll slap him back to his senses (literally or figuratively); perhaps he’ll hold him close if things get too much, too dark. Or maybe he’ll just stand by and watch, judging Koujaku from whatever pedestal he stands on. The only sure thing is that Noiz will always be  _there_. This one existence in the world that Koujaku can’t entirely erase or forget, the only one he can’t quite figure out.

_The one who got away._

Or rather, the one who’s about to get away.

Koujaku laughs slightly at the strange but fitting phrase, an urge to pepper Noiz’ stupid face with kisses rising to the fore as he feels the need to share at least an iota of the annoying, exhilarating confusion he’s experiencing. 

Giving in halfway, the dark-haired man scoots closer to press a quick smooch on the blond’s forehead before turning away and tucking himself back into his corner.

“…I don’t mind owing you twice over,” he speaks with a grin before sinking into a long, deep sleep.

It’s brief, but for that one split second, Noiz is brought back to his past – to that too-big, too-dull bed of his sealed-off childhood. His forehead tingles from what he recognizes as a good-night kiss; one that’s been long overdue.

The feeble embers in his chest spark up just a little.

Reaching up to touch the spot, Noiz consciously covers it with his bangs maybe kind of hoping it’ll keep the nice feeling for a little longer. Engrossed in his own thoughts, he finds Koujaku already dozing off when he finally looks over.

Noiz huffs then he pulls the covers over his shoulder, snuggling deeper. He doesn’t bother to turn away, the last image he retains is of Koujaku -- his peaceful expression varnished by the moonlight.

A work of art without even having to try.

••••••••••

The sun rises almost too soon, shimmering rays shining through the floor length windows.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty~”

For some unfathomable reason, sleep came easily for Koujaku the past night. His dreams were nonexistent but he preferrs that over vivid images painted in black, white, and red. Morning slides in gently and he finds himself watching the blond sleep for a few moments, savoring the odd combination of comfortable silence and Noiz. It takes a great deal of his self-control not to pinch the brat’s nose while he slept. It really should be considered a crime to look so helpless and cute in the morning.

Noiz grumbles, burrowing further into the warmth of his bed. _Who the fuck forgot to close the curtains last night?_

“I can call you, right?” the dark-haired man speaks in a slightly dramatic tone, reminiscent of the countless one-night stand aftermaths he has experienced far too often for his liking.

Sitting up properly on his end of the bed and giving his limbs a quick stretch, Koujaku’s expression turns a bit more serious as he regards his companion.

“… Or at least tell me where the heck I’ll be sending the cursed canvases to. 'Up my ass’ or ‘six feet below’ are not proper addresses.”

In spite of himself, Noiz lets out a snort at that last quip, finally opening his eyes. Rubbing a hand down his face, the blond stifles a yawn. "I'll give you my address, can't have a random perv get your oh-so precious painting... Not that they'd even know what to do with it."

Noiz pushes off the comfy mattress, not quite sitting but at least he's up. Feeling a familiar simmering heat between his legs, Noiz chuckles to himself.  _Yep, definitely up._

It takes some bravery to meet Koujaku's gaze. The man doesn't look anything close to being out of place, waking up in the same bed as him, though Noiz kind of hates the way he asked that question. Noiz has lied his way through numerous queries like it but this one feels more consequential than the rest.

Of course it does. Knowing what he does now, everything that's been said and hasn't -- his perspective has ineffably shifted and there's no way of going back on it. Not that Noiz would want to, he realizes as he surveys Koujaku's form under the golden light of day -- his colors are vivid, as if Noiz needed any more reminders that this is the man who has shattered his black and white world. The one who's an ineffable part of his soul.

Koujaku's expression is a lot more sobering. It's not something Noiz dares to read into, fearing now what it might entail after catching but a glimpse of it the previous night. Still, Noiz wishes that he could be the man that Koujaku asks of him if it means he'll never see that expression again.

"And  _yes_ , you can call or whatever. As if anything has stopped you before," he remarks, turning away and sliding off the bed. "You staying for breakfast or are you rearing to go?"

Koujaku listens to every word, secretly relishing the sharp bite only Noiz and his trademark snarky bluntness could give him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something is off, though, but it could very well be just the aftereffects of a strange night.

“Nah, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

The dark-haired man stands, fingers gently easing the tangles from his hair. Some part of him feels lethargic, almost like he doesn’t want to move away from that place. He knows that the moment the door closes between them, something will be lost forever. But that’s life, right? Even the human brain – with all its power and creativity – can only keep ahold of limited memories. As soon as new ones are made, old ones are pushed back and eventually forgotten. Loss is the price of change, of moving forward… of moving on.

Pausing just by the door frame, Koujaku gives Noiz one last glance, a small but sad, honest smile on his lips.

“…Take care of yourself.”

_Because if you won’t, I might just do it for you._

And with that, he is gone.


End file.
